And through it all,
she struggled to drive words together into sentences, words, that
like a flock of witless sheep upon open ground, would not be driven,
but ran this way and jumped that in a frolicsome imbecility of
purpose.
And there she stood, just within the room, while Mrs. Durlacher with
slowly uplifting eyebrows of amazement rose gradually from the
comfortable armchair to her feet.
"Aren't you Miss--Miss--?" She tried to catch the name in the air
with her fingers.
"Bishop," said Sally, with dry lips.
"Yes, of course, Bishop--Miss Bishop?"
Sally half inclined her head.
"But what--?" she hesitated, knowing that the rest of her sentence
must be obvious, yet gaining time to put the matter together--fit
it to the whole from its separate parts. This was the girl whom she
had met that night in Jack's room--the girl he had called a lady.
They were still acquainted, still friends--greater friends than ever,
since he had brought her down with him to Apsley. Were they married?
Married secretly? She was a thousand times better dressed than she
had been before. The thought tasted bitter. She swallowed the
possibility of it with undeniable courage.
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